Their Love For Words
by Danko Kaji
Summary: While many a young man have come and gone, treating her and the class she taught as a flight of fancy, Baralai always stayed. Memories captured in the flow and ebb of time, a collection of one-shots. College/University AU. Teacher-Student Relationship. Rated for erotic content. Baralai/Yuna.
1. Their Love For Words

_Cross-posted on AO3. Inspired by runicmagitek's fic "A Love of History."_

* * *

_**Their Love For Words**_

* * *

Men tend to dominate the gender ratio of her class, Yuna couldn't help but notice. Those who signed up for Intro to Creative Writing were doing so to fulfill the Liberal Arts portion of their AA; at least, Yuna hoped they were here to study, and nothing more than that. She could tell the aspiring writers apart from the idle and half-hearted, and sometimes she wished she could reach out to those who wanted to learn, if it were not for the constant, harping attention of her male admirers.

Yuna justified her popularity as one of misfortune, especially after she dared to read through the student forums and discovered what the campus thought of her. They praised her as the "sugary sweet and hot" ENG 102 professor who would give anyone diabetes, because she gave too many second chances to anyone who came to her with a decent excuse. She hated that part about herself, the complete doormat. Why couldn't she be more like Auron Masamune from the history department, cool and strict?

One person gave her hope, however. Always smiling and polite, always sitting in the front. Platinum hair framed his face, serving as a stark contrast to his exotic, tan skin. The picture definition of tall, dark, and handsome, he always wore v-neck sweaters with long, open sleeves that covered his delicate hands. In the beginning, Yuna struggled to determine his real gender, because no man could be so beautiful.

In the end, his existence became her secret obsession.

He attended every single day of class without fail, either eager, or sick, or upset, and yet never late. His love for learning accompanied his love for books and story-telling. When he spoke, despite his soft-spoken voice, he did so with an intellect and maturity that surpassed his peers. Yuna noticed him more often in the semesters that followed, always present in each and every one of her classes, because he chose _English - Creative Writing_ as his major. Over time, he opened up more, in confidence and in passion. His poetry and stories matured, just like his taste in clothing. He swapped his cargo pants and plain sweaters for dress pants and casual blazers, yet still retaining that bright aesthetic.

His natural progression into adulthood proved too much for Yuna to bear, even for her saintly patience.

Four years passed by in the blink of an eye, and the scholarly young man finally approached the time to graduate. By the start of the new Fall semester, Yuna could not control the schoolgirl blush on her face while reading an email pertaining to the teaching assistant she requested.

_[Baralai will be your TA for the year]_ the dean typed. _[He's currently attending HIS classes for his History Minor, but I understand he has already taken all of your ENG classes. I could not think of anyone else better suited for your needs.]_

He was. In more ways Yuna would ever dare to confess.

The amount of male students never fluctuated in ENG 102, not then and not now, but it did not escape her notice how less and less have approached her desk or office outside of class. Maybe it had everything to do with the intimidating gentleman who warded off the flirtatious and frail-hearted with pretty words and dangerous smiles. She felt grateful, too; it spared her the trouble of turning down their affections in person.

Nowadays, peace and quiet accompanied her days more. Unlike those young boys who never respected her as an authority figure, looking up to her (and down) with perverse gazes and absent words, Baralai treated her like a woman. He was a true gentleman, one who stressed chivalry and self-discipline. Such honorable behavior had won her heart, and she often daydreamed. Baralai would sooner keep up appearances than expose his true nature, but the moment they were alone he would romance her with that silvertongue of his. Spread out above or below her, she couldn't make up her mind.

Alas, Yuna never acted on those feelings. Would he feel the same, or share her thoughts of the future? To ask would mean to confess, and she didn't feel ready yet. Maybe next year, after he left. Maybe never, if she lost the nerve.

She walked into her office one day to the sight of a pink hibiscus flower on her desk. She picked it up in its glass vase, touched by the gesture. Only one person knew her favorite flower.

"Ah. Good morning."

She turned to greet him, shocked. "You shouldn't have."

"But I wanted to." He chuckled, walking in. He handed her a tall frappuccino from Starbucks - white chocolate mocha, another favorite of hers - and leaned back against the desk facing her. "You've done so much for me, I wanted to return the favor. After all, it has been a pleasure learning with you." He said this while sipping from his Chocolate Cookie Crumble, defying his otherwise adult image with the existence of his monstrous sweet tooth.

Moments like these, she remembered that he's younger than her and illegal by technicality; in spite of those barriers, he never showed fear in expressing himself. She always gave herself a reason to hold back, and whenever she did, found herself envying his courage and subtlety. What drove him to woo her past the pretense of professionalism? Faith?

Placing the flower and drink down, Yuna decided she wanted to test fate today. "Would you like to go out for lunch?"


	2. The Apple Of His Eye

_(A/N): For you, riesling, because I never intended to make this a multiple chapter story. XD Your review spawned a criminal amount of plot bunnies! Plus, unlike my other AU, I have no idea where this one will lead; the way I see it, this might grow to become a series of connected one-shots._

* * *

_**The Apple Of His Eye**_

* * *

Yuna remembered the first time they were alone. Four years ago, after one particular day of class when she managed to answer all questions pertaining to her latest lesson (and then some, much to her chagrin), she watched the last stragglers finally empty out the classroom. She let out a huge sigh, rubbing her forehead. At long last, peace and solitude.

A soft, timid voice made her jump. "...Ms. Alexander?"

She recollected herself, working the smile back on her face. "Y-Yes? How may I help you?"

"I wanted to thank you for today's lesson. I really enjoyed it."

Her heart swelled, flattered. "Thank you."

This poor boy had waited a whole twenty minutes just to say that? She commended him for his patience. Wracking her brain for his name, her face lit up with recognition. Baralai. The Freshman who always arrived fifteen minutes before class, always sitting at the front. Always hiding behind his shaggy bangs and thick clothes. Always attentive, always writing. Quiet and polite. Very pretty.

He never incited trouble, never gave her a problem. Except for his hair. She hated the way his long bangs hung over his eyes. It impeded his concentration, especially during free writes when he must raise his dominant hand to brush it back. Worse, he did it _every two minutes_, and it took her a whole week of four consecutive class sessions to realize that innocent motion became her new pet peeve. Other than that, she found herself marveling at his beautiful, majestic hair. She wished her hair flowed as nice as his. It looked soft. She wanted to touch it even; brush those infuriating bangs out of his face, and perhaps catch those eyes that continue to elude her.

And then she snapped out of her daydream. Such inappropriate, frivolous thoughts! What had she been doing again? Oh, right. She had planned to go straight home, having packed ungraded assignments and half-completed portfolios of short stories inside her large purse. But Baralai had lingered, requesting a moment of her time. His hopeful smile rooted her in place, and with a cordial grin she decided to oblige.

"I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Was that all you wanted to tell me?"

"No, I..." He fidgeted. "I-I also wanted to apologize. I know I don't participate enough in class, and I want to, I really do, but... Whenever I think about raising my hand to read aloud, I become nervous. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She smiled, pleased by his willingness to confide in her. "I understand you're shy. I used to be super shy, too, back in high school. _Especially _back in high school." She paused to laugh, which earned her a tentative smile in return. The turtle peeked out of its shell! She considered that progress. "You know what, I have an idea. Why don't you read aloud to me right now? Nobody else is around, so you should be safe."

"Can I? I suppose... Um..." Baralai became nervous again. Regardless, he reached into his messenger bag to pull out his binder, flipping through the pages. "I actually wrote something during the free write, which I think you might like. Would you like me to read that one to you?"

"Certainly." She gave him an encouraging smile, leaning back against her desk with her hands clasped.

He started to recite to her, a romantic poem by the sounds of it, but unlike all the others she read where she could not imagine his voice, now she could finally hear it. His vivid writing style had already impressed her on paper, but this? His voice flowed like sweet music in her ears, light and timid piano keys that seduced her heart in its lovely rhythm. Why else would she feel her heart race just now? The fault lied in the power of his words, not the boy himself.

"Her eyes are the color of spring grass and the summer sky. I see her – twirling, spinning, dancing – her hair sashaying to the notes of a gentle breeze. The sunlight soaked her hair, bestowing it with lustrous warmth..."

And he continued on, cradling the paper in hand as if he were holding the object of his affections.

* * *

Baralai entered her life in the Fall, and left just as fast. Always walking in and out of her door; face always shadowed by his unkempt hair; body always covered by clothing thick enough to survive through a Russian Winter. And just like how grey clouds and brown leaves disappeared for sunnier days and greener trees, so did her thoughts of the quiet, studious boy.

Once Spring semester finally came around, his presence in her _Creative Writing Intermediate_ class shocked her.

She did not recognize him at first and resumed her writing on the board, focused on her task. The first one to walk in before class started, and she checked her watch. Fifteen minutes until. The moment he placed his backpack down in his usual seat did she turn around to face him. He moved to stand in front of her, dwarfing the Asian woman in height. Yuna blinked. Had Baralai always been this tall? No, his height did not change. His demeanor did.

He forgone his jacket, a security blanket he never went without. He cut his hair, a barrier that separated him from the world.

And his eyes. What a lovely shade of dark. "It's nice to see you again, Ms. Alexander."

And yet, when he smiled, they glowed as bright as amber.


	3. One Beat, Two Hearts

_(A/N): _

_The two songs featured:_

"Sweater Weather" _/_ The Neighborhood

"Rather Be" _/_ The Clean Bandit

* * *

**_One Beat, Two Hearts_**

* * *

They liked to play music while grading papers. Sometimes they would configure her iTunes to shuffle, sometimes Baralai would bring his own iPod for music, sometimes they would even burn CDs for each other with songs they thought the other might like; today, they decided to take turns playing videos on Youtube. They sat apart with their backs to each other, Yuna at her oblique desk and him at her small corner desk; no words were exchanged in the atmosphere of routine.

Yuna's grip on the pen slackened, and she stopped, distracted by the sound of his humming as the song he chose began to play. Glancing at the snowflake patterned video and the lyrics that spill on screen, she twined her fingers beneath her chin and closed her eyes, enjoying the acoustic guitar and smooth voice. Although its sensuality made her self-conscious, she strove not to let it show in his presence.

Until the song increased in tempo, motivating him to sing along, and she blushed.

"She knows what I think about, and what I think about: One love, two mouths. One love, one house. No shirt, no blouse. Just us, you find out nothing that I wouldn't wanna - ugh, that line!"

She awoke from her trance, startled by his remark. And thank God it stopped there, because her needs were starting to argue with her brain. "W-What?! What is it?"

Baralai rotated in his chair to face her, sheepish. "I'm sorry. It's just... Those double negatives never cease to piss me off. Or run-on sentences." He added as an afterthought, wrinkling his nose with a frown. "Sadly, even the best of songs are riddled with them."

She giggled. "Grammar Nazi."

"Good lady, I wasn't always a Grammar Nazi."

"And are you implying that I am to blame, good sir?"

"Why, yes. Lay your eyes upon me, and see the monster you have created."

She giggled again. His way with words never failed to entertain her.

Propping her cheek on the palm of her hand, Yuna stared at her drawer cabinet in thought. "I actually like it when the song is a little grammatically incorrect. It's nice to see people being creative. Here, if we write it down, we can even decipher it." She grabbed a blank page just in time for the song to repeat its chorus, and succeeded in capturing the perpetrator on paper.

Amused by her reasoning, he chuckled and stood up to peer over her shoulder. "Okay. Let's see it."

"Hmm... Oh! That's simple." She grinned, looking up at him. "He's basically saying that he has nothing to hide from... the woman he loves..." The implications finally caught up to her and she trailed off, hyperaware of his proximity, the expectant look on his face. She bowed her head, hoping that her long hair hid her blush well.

"You know, I was thinking..."

She gasped at the feathery touch of his fingers slipping through her hair, feeling him pull back the strands before tucking them behind her ear. His warmth lingered for a second, and then it disappeared, leaving behind a bittersweet ache.

"It's good to follow the rules, but it wouldn't be fun otherwise if we didn't bend them once in a while."

In only a moment, his words rendered her incapable of speech for fear of incriminating herself, and his touch - something so soft and subtle in its intensity - instilled an insatiable want so great, her heart wanted to explode. Desire and anxiety threatened to burst from her chest, and she inhaled, hoping to dispel her frustration.

And then, Baralai moved to sit back down in his chair, returning to his task. "You can pick the next song, if you like."

"O-Okay." Bewildered by his sudden casual tone, she cleared her throat. It took her a moment, but she finally managed to calm down again. Pretend that it never happened. It didn't mean anything. She picked up her pen and straightened out her papers, tip poised at the ready. Except her mind wouldn't let it go.

_'Who does he think he is? He always teases me! I'm an adult, not some silly schoolgirl. This time, I must poke back. No more nice Yuna.'_

Violin strings soon sliced through the heavy silence, accompanying an upbeat, unique staccato.

True to form, Baralai started to hum again, mumbling along to his favorite parts.

She sighed, covering her smile behind the palm of her hand.

_'Oh, what am I doing...?'_


	4. Kiss Farewell

_(A/N): Edited as of September 11, 2015._

* * *

_**Kiss Farewell**_

* * *

Yuna entered her apartment complex, parking into her designated spot. Stepping out of her car, she closed the door behind her and watched Baralai do the same as he pulled into the guest side. Once he crossed the street to reach her side, she popped open the trunk, and together they hauled out the heavy box of assignments she took home with her to grade for Thanksgiving break, rushing to place it down on the concrete.

"Thank you so much! You're the best." She beamed.

He shut the trunk and folded his arms on top of it, heaving a huge sigh. "Don't thank me, yet. We still have to climb at least five flight of stairs." Taking a moment to check out the building, his eyes lit up with wonder. "I know I'm going to regret saying this, but― This place looks great. I especially like your spiraling staircase."

"Wait till you see how it looks on the inside." Yuna grinned, and then moved to grab the box again. "So, are you ready to carry this thing?"

Daunted by the thought, Baralai followed her cue anyway and grabbed the opposite side. "Ready as I'll ever be..."

Before Yuna could take the lead, he started walking backwards, almost throwing her off balance.

She stopped in her tracks, forcing him to stop also and readjust his grip.

They gave each other questioning looks.

"What are you doing?"

"...I don't know. Leading?"

"Why? I know the way," she says, not unkind.

"I know, but it's easy to trip if you can't see where you're going. Plus, it's a long walk. I don't want you to overstrain yourself. And you don't have to worry about me, I trust you to guide me." He smiled, winning the argument right then and there with his dazzling sense of chivalry.

"...thank you. That's very thoughtful of you."

"Anything for you, my lady."

Cheeks already pinched pink from the cold, Yuna felt them flush hotter. Ever since their return back from lunch two weeks ago, Baralai took to calling her that in private whenever she least expected it. Against her better judgment, she grew to love hearing it; the illusion that she in some part belonged to him. She missed how it felt to be with someone.

After several, long minutes of scaling the stairs one careful step at a time, pausing several times to catch their breaths and warm their stiff, sore hands, they eventually made it to her door. They placed the box down so Yuna could unlock the door, and once inside proceeded to drop it off in the middle of the living room. She locked the door shut and wandered into the kitchen, eager for something to drink.

"Would you like something to drink? Juice? Water? Hot chocolate?" She called out to him, opening the fridge and snatching a bottle of water.

"Hot chocolate sounds good. Thank you." He stood by the counter, which separated the dining room and entertainment center from the kitchen, admiring the fireplace in the corner, the plush, beige couch next to the fanciful glass table, and the Van Gogh paintings hung on the white walls. "This will sound rude, so I apologize in advance, but... You know what, I'll just say it. You can afford this on your current salary?"

"It's only a one-bedroom apartment," she said, amused by his survey of her apartment while waiting for the milk to microwave. "And yes. College professors are paid more than school teachers, after all. Plus, I work full-time. I was rooming with my two cousins up until last year, and when time came to renew the lease, I decided I wanted to move out closer to work. It does help that I also earn money on the side with my books."

The same books that she would assign for her classes, including Poetry and Playwriting. She wrote two collection of short stories, one for each level of _Creative Writing_, a compilation of poems, and a full-length original play. Aside from those four core classes, she also taught _HMNT - Shakespeare's Kings_ and _DRMA - Screenplay_ alongside Professor Seymour Guado for the fun of it. It embarrassed her to admit that she became one of those people whose work matured into their passion. Worse, she might have directed Baralai down the same path, because in just three years he aced all her classes with straight As. Now halfway through his fourth and final year, he somehow burrowed his way into her heart, standing before her inside the walls of her home.

"I see," he said, bringing Yuna out of her thoughts. "Does it ever get lonely sometimes, living by yourself?"

"Well, the other reason why I moved out was because I, um... I was kind of hoping to be with someone by now." She took out his cup of hot milk, busying herself with stirring the mixture. "You know, get married, have kids, that kind of thing..." Her hand slowed to a stop, depressed by the thought, and then she forced the smile on her face before turning around to hand him the cup. "I'm pitiful, aren't I?"

"I don't believe you're pitiful at all," he said, stretching the cuffs of his sweater to cover his hands, so he could reach over the counter and retrieve it without the risk of burning himself. "It just goes to show you're waiting for the right person. After all, you don't want to settle for just anybody, right?"

His empathic remark dissolved her doubt, and she felt warmth blossom in her chest. "...yeah. That's exactly right."

While waiting for the drink to cool, Baralai lowered it onto the counter and smiled. "I like you the way you are. You don't have to conform to anybody or lower your standards in order to acquire a fraction of happiness. Someday, I'm sure you'll find him," Baralai said, gazing upon the ripples before raising the cup, blowing air into the scalding surface for a sip. "The man who will make you the happiest woman in the world."

She stared, touched by the truth of his earnest, wise words. _'I may have already found him.'_

"But feel free to take my words with a grain of salt." The embarrassment finally caught up to him, and he blushed, stroking the rim of his cup. "I'm sorry, that probably came off sounding incredibly naive-."

"No, no. It didn't. I really... needed to hear that." Yuna turned away, tickled by the hair strand that came loose from her messy bun, and tucked it behind her ear. Realizing how bedraggled and worn she must look from the day, she touched a palm to her face, self-conscious. "W-Will you excuse me? I, um, n-need to use the bathroom..."

"Oh, of course."

Closing the bedroom door shut, she trudged into the hallway of her bathroom, alone at last to recollect her thoughts. Yuna rinsed her face at the sink, cooling her hot cheeks, and then straightened herself to stare at her disheveled reflection. On the verge of thirty, she could already point out the first sign of wrinkles. She leaned forward, tracing the hints of tireless, long nights beneath her soft eyes. She rubbed her forehead, massaging the slight stress marks that already began to line her skin.

_No steady relationship, no children or ring. She sighed._

_'I feel so old... Why would he want me? He's young and handsome, and about to start his life. I'm here and already established, and... still growing old. I'm not getting any younger. No matter what, I'll always be eight years ahead of him.'_

Discouraged by that train of thought, she decided she must put a stop to this before anyone ended up hurt or heartbroken. "Nothing will come out of this relationship," she told herself, "because nothing will happen, and that's the way it's going to be." She cringed at how meek that sounded, and huffed in frustration. "Come on, me. You can do this, right? Right... Okay, let's go. Tell him he has to leave. Tell him... Oh, forget it." The more she talked to herself, the more foolish she felt, and she decided to give up for now, trudging out of her bedroom.

Yuna found him in the kitchen where he stood in front of the sink, washing his cup.

Wiping his hands dry, Baralai looked up to smile at her. "Oh, you're finally out. I was thinking about heading out now. Thank you for the hot chocolate, it warmed me right up. I especially loved the little marshmallows and cinnamon you put in it."

"You're welcome. I'm glad to hear you liked it." For a moment, she feared she would have to force the cheer in her voice in order to keep him from suspecting anything, but his words always managed to lift her spirits despite her inner turmoil. She walked to open the door for him. "Thanks again for helping me carry that. You're a lifesaver."

"Of course." Baralai stopped before the doorway, facing her. "But before I leave, I wanted to ask you. What are your plans for Thanksgiving?"

"Well, usually I'd drive up to see my parents, but..." Taking a moment to glance at the plastic, sealed box in contempt, she sighed. "With all that homework, I don't think I can finish them all by Monday. I was actually thinking of staying home Thursday."

"Well, that's sad," he said, sympathetic.

Annoyed by his comment, she fought not to frown. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh. No reason, really. I was just curious..." Baralai averted his eyes, appearing to debate about something. His fingers fidgeted on the sleeve of his coat, exposing his white lie for the illusion of his calm, and then he raised his hand to his mouth, clearing his throat. "If you plan on being alone Thanksgiving night... Would it be alright if I came over? To keep you company? We don't have to do anything. Maybe grade papers, or something. Anything that you want to do."

For all his effort and bravery, she couldn't bring herself to disappoint him. Or fight back her traitorous, beating heart. "I. Um, that is. Yes. I-I would like that."

His eyes brightened with pleasant surprise. "Really?"

She nodded, managing a meek smile.

"Okay, um..." Baralai exhaled, struggling to regain his composure, and swept his hand through his hair to rake it back. "W-When would you like me to come over?"

"Dinner! H-How about dinner?" she said, in a panic, her excitement increasing no thanks to his own. "You can come in the afternoon, and we could, you know, cook together...? Unless you don't want to cook! I can do all the cooking."

"No, I want to help," he said, vehement, "Cooking together sounds fun. W-What, ahem... What would you like to make?"

"A whole turkey would be too much for two people, so... I-I'll think of something once I'm in the store. In the meantime, mashed potatoes! You can't have Thanksgiving without mashed potatoes. And mushroom gravy. Maybe cranberry sauce for turkey slices, perhaps...? Oh, and deviled eggs! You enjoy deviled eggs, right? How thoughtless of me! I didn't ask what you'd like to eat."

"Th-That's okay. I'm fine with all those things." He blushed, almost beside himself with joy. "For salad, though, um... Can we make strawberry salad instead of Caesar? I'm not a huge fan of ranch or vinegar. Or all those vegetables. Or croutons. I hate croutons. You know what, can I be in charge of salad?"

Yuna giggled. "You don't like anything sour or salty, do you?"

"No, I'm afraid not..." Baralai chuckled.

"And what about dessert?"

His eyes twinkled. "Pumpkin pie! Or cheesecake. I'm happy with either, honestly."

She propped her elbow on the palm of her hand with a rueful smile, holding her cheek. "What am I going to do with you? You're so lovable, it's almost criminal." He laughed, shameless, until her hand on his cheek silenced him. Yuna stood rooted in place, taking in the full sight of him. 'He's so tall...' she thought, her hand falling to his breast.

Three and half years, she watched this sweet child grow into a young man, and lately it became harder to see him as the child he used to be when he dressed so fine in his designer coats and clean-cut clothes. SPCH-303 and DRMA-018 did wonders on his timidity, motivating him to carry himself with lighter feet and more confident shoulders. His attitude grew, as did his humor and energy for things, leading to the end of her first impression of him. Whenever she dared to stop and think about him, it overwhelmed her how much he had matured, further festering the desire she fought to deny throughout the passing seasons.

She couldn't play oblivious to his adoring looks forever, nor his constant, heart-warming acts of devotion. Men were always men, obnoxious and self-indulgent, but not Baralai. He was a gentleman, the most amazing and thoughtful man she would ever come meet in this lifetime. Motivated by irresistible temptation, she clasped onto the corners of his jacket collar and pulled him down for a kiss. Baralai froze for a split-second, startled at first, before pulling away, further bewildering her with his awkward silence. Yuna wondered why he chose to reject her after all this time when he had been broadcasting his feelings - until it occurred to her: _'He's just as scared as I am.'_

And what had she ever done to encourage his feelings? Nothing. To him, this moment probably felt too good to be true.

Angry at herself, she yanked him down with more force, pressing her lips to his. She felt him return the fervor after the slight, hesitant part of his lips, felt him slip both his hands over the small of her back to clutch her close, and she stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. Coaxing him open with the soft caress of her tongue, she moaned into his mouth. He tasted like warm chocolate, so sweet and addictive, she wanted more. He kissed her nice and slow, before leading her into a series of wonderful, small kisses that ended in bittersweet parting. She fell back onto her heels, arching into him as she tried to catch her breath, touching foreheads and nuzzling noses.

She pushed him back against the door, wanting to feel him more beneath the many annoying layers of his clothes. Forgetting about the fact she had opened it earlier, she caused them to tumble backwards into the cold and her head landed on top of his chest, winding him for a second. She gasped, mortified, burying her face into his sweater to hide her shame, until she felt him wrap his arms tight around her back, his body quaking with ill-restrained laughter.

They lied there in the middle of the open hallway, giggling like children.


End file.
